


The Rose That Never Wilts

by orphan_account



Category: Original Work
Genre: Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Dead People, Gen, Italian Mafia, M/M, Mysticism, Past Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:07:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24577312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: G was right about the job—it was easy as hell. The Boss didn’t want me following him around, except when people came to speak to him. He could take care of himself better than I ever could.The only condition he had was that I could go wherever I wanted, except for the room next to his. I didn’t spend much time thinking about it—so what if the Boss kept a room to himself? Everyone needed a secret. He could be Bluebeard keeping a bloody chamber for all I cared, although a collection of murdered wives was unlikely.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Kudos: 2





	The Rose That Never Wilts

I met the Boss on his twentieth birthday. It was a big deal to finally see him after years of being in the gang. There was still that awe of him, like no one could believe that a teenager (at the time) had walked in to Dollerard group and upturned every single piece of tradition they’d had. The guys who’d stuck around were barely even mobsters anymore, and the ranks had been thinned out, along with the money.

But the Mafia wasn’t a bad racket. I made enough and I could sleep at night (barely) without feeling like the lowest of the low. The Boss, on the other hand…

He was a tall guy, sticking out of the crowd with his pale skin and his blond curls, like a Renaissance angel surrounded by under bosses for cherubim. I didn’t think of introducing myself; the Boss was on another level from everyone else. More than another level, if some of the stories could be believed, which I didn’t. Then his bodyguard G waved me over, and I had to weave through the crowd, trying not to spill my wine on one of the inner circle as I presented myself.

I bowed, taking the Boss’s warm hand in mine and kissing it. As I straightened, the Boss looked me over, searching for God knows what. It felt like being an insect wriggling on a pin.

“Marco,” said G, and the Boss flinched. “You were a hitman once, weren’t you?”

My mouth went dry. “Not for a while, but yeah.”

“I want you to guard the Boss while I’m in Moscow,” G replied, crossing his arms. “It’ll be the easiest job you’ve ever had, just as long as you don’t make yourself look like an asshole.”

“I won’t disappoint you, sir.”

“What’s your last name?” the Boss asked, and his voice was softer than I’d expected.

“Balestra.”

“That’s better,” he replied. “I don’t want to hear anyone call you Marco.”

I nodded. G looked away, muttering apologies for forgetting the rest of my name.

“It’s all right,” the Boss said. “You should go back to the party, Balestra. I’ll expect you here tomorrow.”

G was right about the job—it was easy as hell. The Boss didn’t want me following him around, except when people came to speak to him. He could take care of himself better than I ever could, but it looked wrong for him to be on his own. So, I had to stand around and try to scowl like G.

The only condition he had was that I could go wherever I wanted, except for the room next to his. I didn’t spend much time thinking about it—so what if the Boss kept a room to himself? Everyone needed a secret. He could be Bluebeard keeping a bloody chamber for all I cared, although a collection of murdered wives was unlikely. The guys I’d worked for before, they were always bringing women in. But not the Boss. Instead, he spent all his time on Dollerard. He was the only reason Dollerard held together.

Whenever I could, I went out to the gardens. I’d never seen a gardener around, yet the plants were always in perfect health. More than perfect health—some of the roses were almost as big as sunflowers. I’d sit in the shade of an arbor, breathing in the roses’ scent, shutting out everything else. Except when Giulia, the cook, came to sit with me as she took her cigarette break.

“I think he’s a virgin,” said Giulia. It was a rare cool day in July, so her fifteen minute break was starting to stretch into an hour.

I shrugged, taking a drag from my cigarette. “I figured he was gay.”

“Maybe. He’s not getting laid either way, though. Only person here at night is you,” she said, waggling her eyebrows. “So is he a virgin, Balestra?”

“You can call me Marco, you know. What’s the Boss have against the name, anyway?”

“You ever hear of Ricci? Marco Ricci?”

“He was in charge of the section of the mafia that Boss was in, right? Before he was the Boss. People talk about him like he was a saint.”

Giulia snorted. “He tried to be a good guy, sometimes. I don’t think that counts for that much - do you?”

I shook my head. The things I’d done made me sick sometimes, and when they didn’t, that was even worse.

“There was something about Marco Ricci, though,” Giulia said. “He reminded me of a doll: big eyes, perfect hair, dressed like he’d stepped out of a fashion magazine. Everything about him was sharp. He made people want to follow him anywhere, and they did, and they died. I’d never met anyone else like Ricci until the Boss showed up. I think… Well. We all miss him.”

“You think what?”

Giulia got to her feet. “That’s enough about Ricci. The Boss doesn’t like it when we talk about him, and I need to start on dinner.”

I stayed behind. I’d had enough of the empty mansion and the Boss’s tense silences, not that he had any reason to talk to me.

The sound of someone walking nearby startled me badly enough that I dropped my cigarette on the ground. I rushed to tamp it out with my foot, then looked up to see that I’d messed up right in front of the Boss. He almost had a smile on his face as he stood in the sun, and with the bright light I mistook his hair for a golden halo.

“Damn it,” I mumbled. “Sorry Boss. I promise I’m not going to set your roses on fire.”

“You won’t. Mind if I sit with you?”

“Of course not. Cigarette?”

The Boss shook his head and joined me on the bench. “You’re out here every day. Is it the roses, or are you trying to get out of the house?”

“Both.” I didn’t know if I was supposed to make conversation, but I was nervous as hell, so I did it anyway. “My father was a gardener—he kept roses too, but they never looked like this.”

That made the Boss smile for real. “Thank you.” He had picked up a rock from somewhere, and was turning it over in his hand. “Did you ever think of following in his footsteps?”

“Gardeners don’t make money. I wanted to be a veterinarian, though there’s not much money in that either.”

“I’m sorry that you didn’t.”

The Boss meant it. Just being near him like this, hearing him say he was sorry I’d been such a mess-up, was enough to make me sit a little straighter. Was this how people had felt about Ricci?

“What about you, Boss? What’d you want to be when you were a kid?”

“A mob boss,” he replied, and stood back up. He pressed something smooth into my hand, closing my fingers over it before walking off without another word.

It twitched, and became slimy and I opened my hand in surprise. A frog leapt out, giving one irritated croak before hopping away.

“Where the hell did he get that frog from?”

I couldn’t feel the same way about the Boss after that. I started watching him, following him around like the guard he didn’t want me to be. But the Boss never complained. He just did what he always did: run Dollerard. When he took a break, it was to spend time in the garden. He’d been the one who’d been tending the roses all along, though I still didn’t see him do more than touch them.

Sometimes he’d talk to me, telling me about everything that lived around us. He seemed to know everything about every animal. Back when I’d wanted to be a vet, I’d only thought about taking care of pets, really. He had a gracefulness to him that inspired you to do better by showing you perfection.

He seemed to know how to keep anything alive. Once, I saw him pick up a limping bird, straighten its wing, and like a magician at a show, the bird suddenly flew from his hand. I’d been too stunned to ask him how he’d done it.

The rest of the week passed quickly. I would be sent back to Rome, and the Boss would stay behind, ruling from his empty mansion. I knew if he’d wanted company he could’ve had it, but I wished there was something I could do.

So on the last night, I found him standing outside, listening to the crickets. “There’s hundreds of them out there,” the Boss observed, “crammed into a few meters. I can feel them.”

I cleared my throat. I was about to be an asshole, just like I’d told G I wouldn’t be. “I’m glad you gave me a chance.”

Turning to me, the Boss asked, “Oh?”

“With my name being what it is.”

His face fell. “I should be over it, shouldn’t I?”

“I can’t say; I never met the guy.” I hung my head, avoiding looking the Boss’s eyes—I didn’t want to see if he was still hurting. “It’s not too late to try letting him go.”

“He wanted me to. I watched him give the order to be shot, over and over. We had to make sure the previous boss stayed down. So I could be better in her place. It was just a shame he was in my way." He looked down to the ground. "He’s somewhere beyond my reach now.”

Chancing a look at him, all I saw was the Boss’s face in shadow.

“G’s coming back tomorrow,” the Boss said. “You did well, Balestra. Don’t worry about me.”

“I’m sorry.”

Even I wasn’t stupid enough not to go when the Boss waved me away. But a thought had taken root in me, and I couldn’t shut it up. What did he keep in the locked room? What could the man who so clearly had he wanted, who valued nothing but Dollerard and his garden, feel the need to hide?

The stairs creaked as I went up. They’d never done that before, but I also hadn’t ever snuck around. I’d done a little burglary back in the day, and there was nothing so loud as trying to be silent. The Boss either hadn’t heard me, or assumed I wasn’t about to betray his trust. Maybe whatever I found there—he could let go. He just needed me to help him do it.

Walking down the hall, I started smelling roses again. They reeked, so sweetly that I felt it on my tongue. It wasn’t rot, but near enough.

Maybe this was the Boss’s other garden. Picking the lock was easy, and the door swung open at my slight touch.

The bedroom was overrun with roses, climbing the walls and blocking the window, even dangling down over the bed like a canopy. It was impossible, how they were growing.

Marco Ricci's eyes were open. I knew it was him, because it couldn’t be anyone else. The Boss had stretched him out on the bed, half-curled on his side, one hand pressed up against the pillow, fingers extended as if he were touching something in his sleep.

His clothes were faded with age, but his skin was untouched by time—his cheeks were flushed, as if he could feel the summer heat. The only thing that looked dead about him was his empty stare, his dull eye a dramatic contrast from his healthy skin. He was clearly being tended to, not a hair allowed to be out of place. I could see how Giulia could have described him as looking like a doll, with that pretty, frozen face.

The roses had crept over him, sending tendrils over his shoulder and snaking down his chest. One had coiled around his cheek and pressed past his lips.

He must be uncomfortable, I told myself as I reached for his mouth. I heard the Boss’s footsteps too late; he stopped me, his hand closing on my wrist. For a second, he looked otherworldly beautiful, but it must’ve been just sun passing through the roses.

The Boss pushed me away, his expression so harsh that I thought he might snap my neck.

“You knew not to come here,” the Boss snarled.

“I wanted to help, Boss.” My hand went for my gun before I stopped myself, remembered that even if it could do anything against him, I shouldn’t.

“By prying into my life? By breaking into the one place I keep for myself?”

“He’s dead! Who the hell would want to be kept like this?”

“Marco was never afraid of sacrificing himself for the cause.” The Boss clenched his fists. “This world is brutal and senseless. It didn’t get to me when I was younger, because I thought I could make it all stop. But it just keeps going.”

The Boss sat on the bed, careful not to disturb Ricci's rest. “My mother was a monster,” the Boss explained. He stroked Ricci's hair before gently plucking the tendril out of his mouth. “I can feel her legacy in my blood—her abilities weren’t so different from mine, if you look at them right."

He looked suddenly very sad, in an aching way "I’m afraid of what kind of leader I’ll become, who I'll become, without Ricci to remind me of who I was.”

“I don’t think you’re that bad,” I said, because I couldn’t say that he was truly good. The Boss laughed, and I winced.

Tangling his fingers in Ricci's hair, the Boss focused on him alone. “You should leave while you can, Marco.”

The most awful thing in the room hadn’t been the corpse; it’d been the dip in the pillow, where someone laid his head every night.


End file.
